JК
The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
Страница: 60 из 164Baker, like the rest of his world, was passionately devoted to these creatures and spent long hours with them, drinking in the spectacle of their distortions the way other men saturated themselves with the beauty of art. The middle floor of the roundhouse contained bedrooms for post-operative patients, laboratories, staff rooms, and kitchens. The top floor contained the operating theaters.
In one of the latter, a small room usually used for retinal experiments, Baker was at work on Foyle's face. Under a harsh battery of lamps, he bent over the operating table working meticulously with a small steel hammer and a platinum needle. Baker was following the pattern of the old tattooing on Foyle's face, searching out each minute scar in the skin, and driving the needle into it. Foyle's head was gripped in a clamp, but his body was unstrapped. His muscles writhed at each tap of the hammer, but he never moved his body. He gripped the sides of the operating table.
«Control,» he said through his teeth. «You wanted me to learn control, Jiz. I'm practicing.» He winced.
«Don't move,» Baker ordered.
«I'm playing it for laughs.»
«You're doing all right, son,» Sam Quatt said, looking sick. He glanced sidelong at Jisbella's furious face. «What do you say, Jiz?»
«He's learning.»
Baker continued dipping and hammering the needle.
«Listen, Sam,» Foyle mumbled, barely audible. «Jiz told me you own a private ship. Crime pays, huh?»
«Yeah. Crime pays. I got a little four-man job. Twin-jet. Kind they call a Saturn Weekender.»
«Why Saturn Weekender?»
«Because a weekend on Saturn would last ninety days. She can carry food and fuel for three months.»
«Just right for me,» Foyle muttered. He writhed and controlled himself. «Sam, I want to rent your ship.»
«What for?»
«Something hot.»
«Legitimate?»
«Then it's not for me, son. I've lost my nerve. Jaunting the circuit with you, one step ahead of the cops, showed me that. I've retired for keeps. All I want is peace.»
«I'll pay fifty thousand. Don't you want fifty thousand? You could spend Sundays counting it.»
The needle hammered remorselessly. Foyle's body was twitching at each impact.
«I already got fifty thousand. I got ten times that in cash in a bank in Vienna.» Quatt reached into his pocket and took out a ring of glittering radioactive keys. «Here's the key for the bank. This is the key to my place in Joburg. Twenty rooms; twenty acres. This here's the key to my Weekender in Montauk. You ain't temptin' me, son. I quit while I was ahead. I'm jaunting back to Joburg and live happy for the rest of my life.
In one of the latter, a small room usually used for retinal experiments, Baker was at work on Foyle's face. Under a harsh battery of lamps, he bent over the operating table working meticulously with a small steel hammer and a platinum needle. Baker was following the pattern of the old tattooing on Foyle's face, searching out each minute scar in the skin, and driving the needle into it. Foyle's head was gripped in a clamp, but his body was unstrapped. His muscles writhed at each tap of the hammer, but he never moved his body. He gripped the sides of the operating table.
«Control,» he said through his teeth. «You wanted me to learn control, Jiz. I'm practicing.» He winced.
«Don't move,» Baker ordered.
«I'm playing it for laughs.»
«You're doing all right, son,» Sam Quatt said, looking sick. He glanced sidelong at Jisbella's furious face. «What do you say, Jiz?»
«He's learning.»
Baker continued dipping and hammering the needle.
«Listen, Sam,» Foyle mumbled, barely audible. «Jiz told me you own a private ship. Crime pays, huh?»
«Yeah. Crime pays. I got a little four-man job. Twin-jet. Kind they call a Saturn Weekender.»
«Why Saturn Weekender?»
«Because a weekend on Saturn would last ninety days. She can carry food and fuel for three months.»
«Just right for me,» Foyle muttered. He writhed and controlled himself. «Sam, I want to rent your ship.»
«What for?»
«Something hot.»
«Legitimate?»
«Then it's not for me, son. I've lost my nerve. Jaunting the circuit with you, one step ahead of the cops, showed me that. I've retired for keeps. All I want is peace.»
«I'll pay fifty thousand. Don't you want fifty thousand? You could spend Sundays counting it.»
The needle hammered remorselessly. Foyle's body was twitching at each impact.
«I already got fifty thousand. I got ten times that in cash in a bank in Vienna.» Quatt reached into his pocket and took out a ring of glittering radioactive keys. «Here's the key for the bank. This is the key to my place in Joburg. Twenty rooms; twenty acres. This here's the key to my Weekender in Montauk. You ain't temptin' me, son. I quit while I was ahead. I'm jaunting back to Joburg and live happy for the rest of my life.